A New Era
by Scrivensabre
Summary: A series of ficlets describing events after the Battle of Hogwarts, described from unusual points of view. Canon shipping, DH spoilers. Read and review, please!
1. Beginning Anew

**Author's Note:** This is my first fanfiction, so I'd appreciate reviews. Let me know what you think and feel free to give me any suggestions or constructive criticism. I've had this particular idea for a while – hope you like it!

**02/07/11: **I fixed little bits in every chapter, and have decided that I will set the story's characters to whomever I've written about in the latest chapter. So feel free to skip to Chapter 4 if you're here for Alice (although I'd appreciate it if you read the earlier chapters too...) :)

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter – never have, never will. JK Rowling is a hero!

* * *

- CHAPTER ONE -

**_Beginning Anew_**

The ringing telephone jerked the Prime Minister awake. It was almost midnight, and he had fallen asleep at his desk. He rubbed his eyes and picked up the receiver.

"Hello?"

"Why aren't you home yet, sweetheart? I've been waiting up."

The Prime Minister yawned and sat up in his chair.

"No, sorry dear, I fell asleep. I've still got some work to finish, so why don't you go on to bed?"

There was a pause on the other end.

"Alright, but do try and finish up quickly, or you'll be too tired for the conference tomorrow."

The conference! He had forgotten.

"I'll try, dear. I'll see you in a couple of hours, then."

He hung up the phone and massaged his forehead. The thought of the conference was giving him a headache. His political opponents had demanded a meeting with him to ascertain why so much had gone wrong in the country in the past six months, under _his_ leadership. The Prime Minister had no idea what he was going to say to them, as he couldn't very well explain the truth – they'd kick him out of office and put him in an institution. Too tired to think about it anymore, he slumped back onto the desk and fell asleep again.

More than six hours later, the Prime Minister jerked awake again with his hand stretching for the telephone, thinking that that was what had woken him. He sat up, confused, when he realised that it wasn't ringing. Instead, he looked up to find Kingsley Shacklebolt looking at him with a gleefully radiant expression on his face.

"Kingsley! What – "

"We won, Minister, we won! Voldemort has been defeated!"

The Prime Minister stared at the other man, dumbstruck. He had not seen Kingsley for months, and had had no news of the war in the magical world except for its many Muggle casualties.

"What – what happened? Where have you been all this time? What do you mean, you won?"

But Kingsley was already walking back to the fireplace.

"I have no time to explain now, there's a lot to sort out. We just needed to let you know that the wizarding war is finally over."

Kingsley extracted a drawstring bag from his pocket and took some powder from it. The Prime Minister stared at Kingsley, and a slow grin began to spread across his face. But then he remembered something.

"Well that's wonderful, but what do I tell my opponents at the conference? They won't believe me if I say there won't be anymore trouble!"

The flames turned green and Kingsley looked back with a smile.

"Oh, I wouldn't worry about that – we'll sort that out as well."

And then he stepped into the flames and vanished.


	2. The Other Minister Again

Author's Note: This is my first fanfiction, so I'd appreciate reviews. Let me know what you think and feel free to give me any suggestions or constructive criticism. I've had this particular idea for a while – hope you like it!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter – never have, never will. JK Rowling is a hero!

* * *

– CHAPTER TWO –

**_The Other Minister Again_**

A week later, the Prime Minister was cheerfully paging through the disaster-free newspaper when he heard a soft cough. When he had heard this cough on previous occasions, it had always made him nervous, making him wonder what new calamity the Other Minister was going to tell him about. This time, however, he had been anticipating it for a week, and was quick to answer.

"Hello, yes, I'll meet Kingsley."

The frog-like man in the painting looked approvingly at the Prime Minister. A few seconds later, a tall black man came into view, spinning rapidly within the green flames. Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped out of the fireplace, and the Prime Minister stepped forward to shake his hand.

"I must say, Kingsley, it is very good to see you again, and out of everyone that's come through that fireplace, you're the only one I've been able to say that to."

Kingsley laughed.

"It's good to see you too, Minister. It's also good to see that the Imperius curse that the Death Eaters put on you hasn't affected you too badly."

The Prime Minister looked at the other man, confused.

"What do you mean? What curse? I haven't been under any curse … Or have I?"

Kingsley looked at him with a grave expression on his face.

"The Imperius curse. It's an Unforgivable curse in our world, although the Death Eaters have been using it unceasingly for the past year. It allows a witch or wizard to control someone else's actions. Apparently a Death Eater Imperiused you after I went into hiding."

The Prime Minister looked horrified.

"They were controlling me? What did they make me do?"

Kingsley looked grim.

"By the looks of things, nothing too serious, thank goodness. Every time a Muggle was killed, they used you to fabricate cover-up stories for what actually happened and spread them about. I suppose they would have gotten rid of you had they gained full control of the Muggle world before last week."

The Prime Minister gulped.

"Gotten rid of me …"

Kingsley looked sheepish.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to put it quite like that, but yes. The curse you were under probably lifted because the Death Eater who cast it was obviously killed sometime during the Final Battle."

Kingsley looked at the Prime Minister, whose face had gone white when he had been told of the Imperius curse.

"Perhaps you'd like to sit down, Minister?"

The Prime Minister started.

"Oh, yes, perhaps I should. And I'm sorry Kingsley, how rude of me. Take a seat, and tell me what else has been going on. Sherry?"

Kingsley nodded, and the Prime Minister poured out two glasses from the decanter on the table. He handed one to Kingsley.

"Thank you. Well, first of all, I've been made Minister for Magic, which is why I'm currently the one liaising with you and – "

"You've been made Minister? That's fantastic, Kingsley! You'll be far more suited to the job than your predecessors seemed to have been."

Kingsley smiled.

"I'm glad to know you think so, Minister. Well, I was temporary last week, but as far as I've seen, political matters settle far quicker in our world than in yours, so my post was finalised three days ago. We've had quite a mess to fix, which is why I'm only coming to see you now."

"No, that's quite alright. But I would like to thank you for sorting out that conference problem. How did you get them all to forget about it? I walked into the boardroom and there was no-one there … When I phoned my secretary, she said I was meant to be playing golf."

"We have our ways," Kingsley said, grinning.

"Well, I can't really stay too long today, so let me get to the things that matter."

"Yes, yes, of course."

"Voldemort has been defeated, which you already know. What you don't know is that he has been defeated by Harry Potter and that most of the Death Eaters are either dead or captured. There are still a couple on the loose, but we'll get them within the next few days, now that the Ministry is fully within our control again."

"Hold on, Kingsley. This … Harry Potter, you said? I thought Fudge said he was just a boy?"

"He's seventeen, which means he's of age in our world, but yes, I suppose he is still a boy. I don't know how he managed it when no-one else could – he refuses to tell anyone – but I'm happy either way. He's an extraordinary person, and he, along with the friends who helped him, are currently heroes in the wizarding world."

The Prime Minister looked doubtful, as if the thought of a seventeen-year-old defeating such an evil person was a little far-fetched.

"So you're sure – you're sure then, that this Vold – what's-his-name – is really dead?"

"Yes, I am. We've checked the body to make sure. But there's more proof in that all the spells he cast on other wizards and witches have lifted."

Convinced, the Prime Minister leaned back in his chair and sipped at his sherry, feeling an overwhelming sense of relief.

"So that really does mean no more deaths … Alright, so what else?"

"We managed to avert a nasty situation with the goblins, thanks to some of our more skilled negotiators," Kingsley said, thinking of Bill Weasley and Minerva McGonagall. "We've modified the memories of all the Muggles who've survived any attacks of any kind, and we've been restoring Hogwarts to its former state."

"Hogwarts – that's a school, right? What happened to it that you have to restore it?"

"Hogwarts is one of the finest schools for magical folk in the world. The Final Battle took place at Hogwarts, for which reason it is also now known as the Battle of Hogwarts. Many parts of the school were severely damaged, and because it is a castle with ancient magic ingrained in the very walls, it needs extremely skilled wizards and witches to supervise its reconstruction at all times. We expect everything to be fully repaired by next month."

Kingsley paused to sip at his sherry, while the Prime Minister tried not to goggle at the thought of fixing a heavily damaged school – a castle, Kingsley had said – in a month.

"I'm afraid not everything is good news. The Muggles aren't the only ones who have suffered great losses.' And here, Kingsley gulped down the rest of his sherry and took a deep breath. 'Many great witches and wizards have lost their lives fighting Voldemort and his supporters. I, personally, have lost many good friends, and we believe that there are more victims that we haven't found yet."

Kingsley looked down at his now empty glass, and the Prime Minister looked at him with understanding. He knew, only too well, how Kingsley felt.

"I'm very sorry for your loss. I know what it's like."

Kingsley looked up.

"Thank you. We'll soon be having a memorial service for all those who died. But a little while after that, perhaps in another week or so, we were thinking of having a ceremony to celebrate the victory and honour those who fought, both living and dead."

There was a short silence. Then the Prime Minister spoke.

"Well, I think a victory celebration is a good idea. It will help lift spirits after everything that everyone has lost."

"Yes … yes, I think so, too."

The Ministers looked at each other for a moment in mutual understanding. Then Kingsley nodded and stood up.

"Well, that's about all the news I have right now."

"Wait, Kingsley. Isn't there anything I could do?"

"That's a good question. I haven't really thought about that, Minister, but if there is anything, I'll come and tell you later this week. Unfortunately, I have to go right now."

"Another meeting in your busy life – Minister?' the Prime Minister asked with a conspiring smile.

Kingsley grinned at him, thinking of everyone gathered around Molly Weasley's delicious lamb chops at the Burrow's dinner table.

"Yes … yes, I suppose you could say that."

The Prime Minister held out his hand.

"Well, I'm glad you could come by and tell me all of this. Good luck with putting everything right, Kingsley. Keep in touch, will you? I'd like to know what's going on in your world from now on, and that's not just when something bad happens."

Kingsley shook the proffered hand.

"Thank you, Minister. As to keeping in touch, we'll make sure to give you reports anytime something does happen – whether it's good or bad. We'll keep an Auror situated in your office for now, just in case – I'll send you details sometime tomorrow. Goodbye, Minister."

Kingsley stepped into the fireplace as the flames glowed emerald-green, and spun out of sight.

The Prime Minister went back to his chair and looked out the window. The sun was shining, the birds were singing. He picked up his newspaper and sighed contentedly – it was a wonderful day.


	3. Victory

Author's Note: I got the idea for this from the fanfic "Dumbledore's Army and the Year of Darkness" by thanfiction. It's really good! Another brilliant DA fic is "Daphne Greengrass and the 7th Year of Hell", by WhiskeyTangoFoxtrot. We know from what Neville tells the Trio that the DA put up graffiti around the school...

Disclaimer: I'm not the brain that thought up Harry Potter. I'd be a gazillionaire if I was. Go JK Rowling!

* * *

– CHAPTER THREE –

**_Victory_**

Padma Patil walked wearily down the second-floor corridor. The past two weeks had seen the survivors of the Final Battle helping the injured and trying to put the school back together. Padma was on her way to the Charms classroom, where extra hands were needed to clear out the rubble so that repairs could be done.

As she got nearer to the classroom, Padma noticed that this was yet another area in the castle where extensive damage had been done. Ripped tapestries hung halfway down the walls and scorch marks littered the floor. Suits of armour were knocked over, and several windows had been blasted open. Although the war was finally over, there was still much to repair, and many things to overcome

Padma heaved a sigh and walked into the Charms class, which looked like a rampaging herd of Hippogriffs had passed through it. She wasn't surprised, having seen several classrooms in a similar state over the past few days. She looked up at the wall and saw something she recognised from one of their DA exploits.

**oOoOo**

"_Hey Neville, I guess they've finally realised that they can't get rid of us that easily, eh?"_

"_Trust me, Anthony - now that the Ministry finally knows that Harry, Ron and Hermione are working against them, they'll know that we'll be ready for anything. I'm telling you, it's not going to be much longer till we can fight!"_

_They had snuck out of their dormitories to carry out yet another planned 'raid'. Neville was currently inscribing something on the wall of the Charms classroom, with Anthony Goldstein and Padma Patil keeping watch._

"_Keep it down back there! And hurry up!"_

"_Alright, alright Padma, he's just finished up."_

_Neville stepped back and motioned to the others._

"_What do you think, guys?"_

_Padma and Anthony looked up at Neville's handiwork, and identical grins spread across both their faces when they saw what he had written._

"_Neville, it's perfect."_

**oOoOo**

Padma smiled reminiscently, and shook her head slightly to clear her head. She looked around and saw that she was the first one to the class. But as she began moving broken desks and chairs aside to make a pathway, she heard voices outside.

"Well, Ron, could you at least keep your mouth shut while you're eating?"

"How the bloody hell am I supposed to answer your questions if I do that, Hermione?"

They were coming closer, and Padma grinned at the thought of what Hermione Granger and Ronald Weasley especially, would say when they saw what Neville had written on the Charms classroom.

"You could always wait till after you had finished eating whatever you were eating – and don't swear."

"But you get mad at me when I keep you waiting for an answer!"

Ron and Hermione entered the classroom, holding hands and laughing slightly as they poked fun at each other. Behind them came several of their old schoolmates – Dean Thomas, Seamus Finnigan, Hannah Abbott, Demelza Robbins, and Michael Corner. They noticed Padma and greeted her. Ron looked around the classroom and whistled.

"Blimey, they didn't go easy, did they?"

Padma could feel her smile getting wider as she waited for Ron to catch sight of the wall. The others caught her expression and grinned in return, while Hermione and Dean looked on in confusion. Hermione started to ask, "Padma, what – " but turned her gaze to the wall behind the teacher's desk when Padma pointed her finger to it. Hermione's jaw dropped.

"Oh my ... What? When ... Who did this?"

Padma looked at her.

"We did, just after the Easter holidays – when the Ministry knew for sure that you and Ron were with Harry."

Ron heard her and spun around. Noticing where they were looking, he too finally turned his eyes to the wall, and almost choked on his surprise. Huge smiles began to spread across his and Hermione's faces as well, and Ron felt a sort of elation coming from deep inside of him. There, inscribed on the wall in Neville Longbottom's hand, were the words:

**WEASLEY IS OUR KING!**

**DEATH-EATERS CAN'T MAKE WEASLEY CHOOSE**

**WHEN WEASLEY'S HERE WE CANNOT LOSE**

**SO MUGGLE-BORNS, HALF-BLOODS, PURE-BLOODS SING**

**WEASLEY IS OUR KING!**

Ron was still gaping at the words in awe. Hermione twisted round to look at Padma.

"You did this?"

"Well, Neville did, actually. It took us a while to get the rhymes, and it took Neville a while to write it all up, but it was worth it in the end. There are others, all over the school, of you and Harry as well."

And Ron's friends, jubilant in his return, began to sing the words on the wall.

"_Weasley is our king ..."_ Seamus began, and the others joined in.

'_Weasley is our king!_

_Death-Eaters can't make Weasley choose,_

_When Weasley's here we cannot lose!_

_So Muggle-borns, Half-bloods, Pure-bloods sing_

_Weasley is our king!"_

They kept singing, and Ron turned around to look at them, his face as red as his hair, but with a gigantic grin on his face. Padma clapped her hands as she sang, noticing that Hermione was doing all she could not to laugh at the ecstatic, but slightly nervous, expression on Ron's face. They only seemed to get louder as they kept singing, occasionally mixing verses of the old Quidditch original with the war remix. Padma looked around and noticed that even more people had joined them, Harry Potter and Ginny Weasley included. She waved at them mid-song, and they grinned at her in return while they also, continued to sing the song.

It seemed like it would never stop – they were bursting with euphoria in the knowledge of their triumph. Seamus, Dean and Michael went forward and lifted a red-faced Ron onto their shoulders. Padma felt giddy inside as they continued singing their spontaneous victory song, and saw Hermione and Harry also being hoisted onto people's shoulders. The lyrics slowly changed to accommodate them as well:

"_Weasley is our king!_

_Death Eaters can't make Granger choose,_

_When Potter's here we cannot lose!_

_The Trio will make sure we win,_

_Weasley is our king!_"

Padma, normally a quiet, reserved character, found herself jumping up and down and screaming the words with the rest of them. All around her, the survivors of the Battle rejoiced and celebrated the heroes of the Wizarding World – and for the first time since the Battle of Hogwarts, not one depressing thought came upon her, as they lifted three blushing teenagers on their shoulders and yelled their victory out to the world.


	4. Healing

**A/N:** I don't know if this chapter is possible. Either way, I had to write it – it's something that's been nesting in my brain for months now. Hope you enjoy it!

**Disclaimer:** Amongst other things, I am worrying about university applications and my working future. JK is probably not doing this. Ergo, I am probably not JK Rowling. Who is legendary beyond words.

* * *

– CHAPTER FOUR –

**_Healing_**

There was, at first, only a vague feeling of nothingness – a feeling that declared to her that she was there, and yet, was not. Afterwards, she would occasionally rise out of that nothingness and become aware of something, and someone, and realise, in the corner of her mind, that more than that nothingness existed. This feeling solidified, years later, when Alice Longbottom opened her eyes and saw the bespectacled face of a black-haired boy holding a knobbly wand to her temple.

**oOoOo**

"What?"

Alice looked around her, confused. In front of her, there was the boy who had just lowered his wand from her forehead, looking relieved for some reason. At his side was a brown-haired boy, biting his lip, whom she did not recognise, and yet whom she thought was intensely familiar. Next to him stood a man in healer's robes, slack-jawed and round-eyed. And at the back, with a vulture-topped hat on her grey head and a red handbag clutched tensely to her heaving chest, was –

"Augusta! What's going on? Where am I? Who are they?" She gestured at the two unknown boys.

But it was not Augusta who answered her. It was the brown-haired boy, who stepped forward with tears in his eyes, and declared, "It's over, Mum. We won. You're okay now."

Alice simply stared at him in disbelief.

"Mum ... ?" She faltered.

A hurt expression grew upon the boy's face.

"You don't remember? It's me, Mum. I'm Neville."

Alice frowned, confused.

"But Neville's a baby!"

The boy seemed surprised, and seemed to come to a realisation. The hurt was replaced with an almost relieved expression.

"No, Mum. I'm not a baby anymore. That was ... That was almost seventeen years ago."

Alice felt like she had been punched in the stomach. She looked over to her mother-in-law for clarification. Augusta Longbottom had sat down upon the nearest bed and taken to simply staring at her revived daughter-in-law. There were tears pouring down her wrinkled face. She stood up and walked, taking tottering steps towards the woman in the hospital gown.

"Augusta?"

Alice waited until Augusta had walked right up to her. Augusta put a hand on her face, as if to feel that she was truly real, and then spoke the words Alice had asked for.

"Alice dear ... Neville's right. You and Frank have been ... in a coma of sorts – for almost seventeen years. You're alright now. Oh, sweetheart, you're alright now!"

Augusta collapsed onto Alice's shoulder and held on to her as though her life depended on it. Alice put her arms around the sobbing woman, too shocked to speak. Neville began talking again, repeatedly putting his hands to his eyes to wipe away the incessant flow of tears.

"Mum, I ... We've been visiting you and Dad all these years, but you didn't know us, you didn't know us at all – but now you do, and I'm so ..." Neville couldn't get many coherent words out as he was almost fully crying by now. Alice seemed to start out of her stupor as he spoke. She looked at him, recognising his resemblance to Frank and herself, and at the same time, finding something odd in what he said.

"What do you mean, we didn't know you?"

"I –"

"And where's ... where's Frank?"

Alice panicked suddenly, looking around her for her husband. The brown-haired boy – Neville, she thought disbelievingly – moved forward and began to speak, his voice on the verge of cracking.

"Harry hasn't ... hasn't healed him yet. We started with you."

Still holding on to a weeping Augusta, Alice moved closer to Neville. She felt as though the situation was almost unreal. She couldn't believe that her son – her baby son – could be the young man standing in front of her, with a weathered expression on his face and tears in his eyes. She latched onto his words, trying to find some sense in the situation.

"Healed us?" Alice was confused. "Why couldn't you have done it before? Why wait seventeen years?"

Neville did not answer her, but looked uncertainly at the black-haired boy – Harry, they had called him. Harry looked at her, and spoke hesitantly.

"They weren't able to heal you with regular wands or healing methods. I – have you heard of the Elder Wand?"

Alice could remember some vague talk of it – the playful banter of fellow Aurors discussing what they would do with the unbeatable wand if they had it. She nodded slowly.

"It's the unbeatable wand – it repaired my own wand when nothing else could, and I thought ... I thought maybe it could do the same for you and Neville's dad. And ... and it worked."

Augusta had by now given way to her tears again, and Neville had gone over to hold his shaking grandmother in his arms. Harry stood aloof, feeling slightly awkward, and Alice remained where she was, stunned. A slight noise from behind her caught her attention, and she turned around.

She nearly fainted when she saw the person she had been anxiously wondering about since she had awoken.

Frank Longbottom – no, a shadow of his former self, for the wasted man sitting on the bed could not be her bold and lively husband – sat staring straight ahead, with no spark of life in his eyes. Alice felt her face crumple, and went and kneeled in front of him before the tears could fall. She put her hands on his cheeks, and looked into his eyes – eyes that were once so sharp, now deadened and vague.

"Frank ..."

He looked at her without recognising her, and Alice thought she would break down right then. Instead of succumbing to the intense despair that was threatening to overwhelm her, she turned to Neville, who was still behind her.

"Can't you heal him too?"

Neville looked again at Harry, who seemed to come to himself as soon as he realised that he was again needed, no longer an extra presence within the room.

"Yes, I'm sure I can. Now that you're healed, we know that it will work."

Alice held Harry's gaze determinedly.

"Do it, then."

Harry came over to the bed as Alice rose shakily and went to stand by Neville and Augusta. She looked at the boy – her son – with wonder in her eyes.

"You've grown so much ... You look like my dad."

Neville stared back at his mother dazedly, feeling as though the recognition in her eyes would fade if he so much as dared to look away. She nervously put her arm around his shoulders, and was glad of it when she was rewarded with a beaming smile from him. Together, they looked back to Harry, who had been waiting for them. Alice nodded at him.

Harry put his wand to Frank's temple and began to murmur a spell, so softly that Alice could not hear. A few seconds later, Harry fell silent. He stepped back, and they all waited.

"Any moment now ..." Harry was confident.

They all started as the man in front of them first blinked, then looked around the room as though he were surprised to see them there. He caught sight of Augusta.

"Mother? Why are you crying?"

At that, Augusta succumbed again to the tears she had not cried since the night she had lost her son and daughter-in-law, while Alice went and embraced a confused Frank. Neville stood, shell-shocked at the knowledge that both his parents had regained their sanity. Alice let go of Frank, and caught sight of Neville turning to Harry with a glowing look.

"You saved them. You saved us all. Thank you so much, Harry." Neville was shaking with the force of his emotions. Harry smiled at him unsteadily.

"You're my friend, Neville. As soon as I suspected there was a chance ... No-one deserves this more than you do."

This was too much for Neville, who hugged Harry fiercely, sobbing incoherent words of thanks. Harry in turn, patted his back, and caught hold of Alice's watchful eyes. She mouthed a heartfelt _thank-you_ to him, and received a warm smile in return.

Alice turned to the man sitting next to her – he still had an entirely befuddled expression on his face, which almost made her laugh out aloud. This look was so much more familiar than the one she had seen not ten minutes ago – the haunted, dead look that she now believed would never leave her memories; she must have had the same look.

"Hello, Frank," she greeted him.

He looked at her confusedly.

"Er ... hello, Alice? What happened? And no offense, but I'm pretty sure you didn't look this ... old ... yesterday."

Alice did laugh aloud this time, catching the attention of the others in the room.

"You should see yourself, you're not so sprightly-looking either, love."

"But what happened?"

"I'm not quite sure. But Neville will tell us. He's our son, Frank. There's Neville, he's our son." She pointed proudly to the brown-haired boy who was still struggling to regain his breath. Frank looked at Neville, mystified, and turned back to Alice with a look of wonder on his face.

"What? But Neville's a –"

"Baby, yes. He was. Apparently we've been in a comatose state for about seventeen years."

Frank looked at her sharply.

"A coma? That must have been ..." A dark look came upon his face. His words triggered understanding in Alice's mind.

"Bellatrix," they said together.

Frank rose angrily.

"Where is she? I'm going to kill her!"

Harry chuckled. They turned to him, confusion mixing in with their outrage.

"That's already been taken care of. Bellatrix is dead, Rodolphus is in Azkaban, and Barty Crouch was given the Dementor's Kiss. They can't ever bother you again."

Harry seemed to take an almost vindictive pleasure in this, quite out of character with the serene personality they had seen so far. Frank and Alice spoke together.

"But how did you –"

"When did this –"

They looked at each other, smiling. But at that moment, Augusta stood up and walked towards them. She took hold of their hands with each of her own.

"We'll tell you. We'll tell you everything. But right now, just let us be happy that you're finally with us. We have you back. Neville has his parents, and I have my children again. Let us be happy that you're with us again," she spoke hoarsely, with shining eyes.

Frank and Alice looked at each other again. They nodded and turned back to the rest of their family. Alice beckoned to Neville, who was standing a few feet away, and he drew nearer to her. Harry, seeming to understand that this was a private moment, waved at them and left the room before they could say anything to him.

Alice looked around her, at the faces of those who had missed her for seventeen years. She regretted that she had not been there, to love them and to help them overcome their worst adversities; but what truly mattered was that she was here now.

She clutched Frank's hand as though it was a lifeline, smiled at Augusta sitting on Frank's other side, and held her son tightly to her. They would be alright. They were together now.


End file.
